


Such a Dismal Time...

by SinseiBad



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: A Cautionary Tale, Consider this a PSA to stop separating Linhardt and Caspar, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Gen, Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 18:45:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21166292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinseiBad/pseuds/SinseiBad
Summary: The inevitable has arrived.A general's duty is to boost the morale of his men, even in the face of the death.  Caspar pushes forward through the corridors of Fort Merceus, fully consciousness of just what this clash with the Kingdom meant.Alongside the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus stood the professor.With the professor stood his childhood friend.





	Such a Dismal Time...

“Don’t try and stop me!”  
  
A metallic crunch follows his battlecry. An effortless stroke pierces the weakest point of his foe’s armor and cleaves deep into sinew. The soldier’s gurgling howl is lost in the chaos of battle, and he crumples to the ground in a heap. Using his foot to steady his weight on the fallen, Caspar works his axe from its mortal sheath. Back and forth, he shifts the blade until he finally forces it free. Blood douses his sabaton as he scans his surroundings.  
  
His men clean up the remains of their first strike against the Kingdom’s forces. The initial victory feeds into a rush, and Caspar grins despite the slaughter around them. Even in the face of death, a sure smile bolsters morale on the battlefield, and a general’s purpose is to rally his men.  
  
“Forward!” Caspar whoops, banging the blunt side of his axe to his breastplate.  
  
He leads their advance through the twisted corridors of Fort Merceus - following the sound of battle to meet their next wave of invaders. While he embodies the fighting spirit needed to push his men forward, Caspar can’t help but fret what may lie beyond the next corner.  
  
He knows that the inevitable has arrived alongside the Kingdom.  
  
With the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus stood the professor.  
  
With the professor stood his childhood friend.  
  
Caspar quickly abandons this thought. He can’t allow himself a delay. Missteps spell the difference between a win and a loss - a luxury he can’t afford.   
  
Not when his battalion relied on him.  
  
Thus, he can only push forward towards the clamor of battle. The wail of a wind spell echoes beyond the corridor’s bend. Caspar’s mouth goes dry. Despite how his gaze is transfixed on the path ahead, the previously abandoned thought creeps back. The corners of his mouth press into a firm line as he musters the bravado to alert his men. It’s the perfect opportunity for an ambush.  
  
“Mages ahead! Ready yourselves!” Caspar calls seconds before he is first to turn the corner. 

His men follow in line, synchronized with their leader’s whim. It takes mere seconds for Caspar to assess the situation. The ground is littered with the bodies of Imperial soldiers from their neighboring strike team. The enemy is in the middle of clean up before they make their next move.  
  
A move they won’t have time to plan.  
  
“Head on! Attack!” Caspar roars, waving his arm over his head as a signal for his men to descend. He howls in delight at the rushing commotion of his armored units charging past. He adjusts his grip on his axe, shifting its weight into his familiar stance. The adrenaline in his veins causes the tip of his nose to tingle and he prepares to rush forward.  
  
A glimpse of green catches his eye. A familiar voice strains over the sound of battle to give a frantic directive. Suddenly, the noise around Caspar drains hollow, replaced by his own pulse swelling in his ears.  
  
The inevitable is here.

  
  
\----

_ “Linhardt!” _  
  
_ A voice, wholly unrestrained, echoes through the halls of the von Hevring Estate. Caspar darts from doorway to doorway, scanning each room for the familiar form of his friend. This routine repeats each time his father, the Count of Bergliez, meets with the Duke of Hevring. Upon arriving, Caspar scurries away at his father’s whim - knowing full well that his father simply wants to be rid of him before engaging in yet another turbulent exchange with Linhardt’s father. Scampering through gardens and halls alike, Caspar keeps a running tally of each vacant napping spot. With each uninhabited spot, he grew closer to wrenching his friend back to the waking world. _  
  
_ Caspar throws open the doors to the patio and sucks in another breath. His chest puffs outward before he lets out another cry. _  
  
_ “Linhardt…!” _  
_  
His shoes pad against paved brick. He pushes through the veranda, eyes keen to any clue. The padded furniture lay pristine, yet to be disturbed by the meandering of the Hevring’s only son. _

_ Another strike against Caspar’s intuition. _  
  
_ He continues down the winding path into the patio gardens. Leaves rustle with a breeze that intermingles with the scent of honeysuckle. Caspar advances under a trellis devoured by rich foliage. His fingers graze a red bloom idly as he passes. Then he finally catches a glimpse of his friend. Linhardt is curled upon a wooden bench, shrouded by the shade of an old willow. Light filters through the branches, casting a cascade of shadows over the slumbering form. Linhardt’s round face is slack beneath a drape of green hair. His mouth slightly agape, drool trickling from the corner of his mouth. _  
  
_ Caspar grins as he reaches out to disturb this nap. His hand grasps at Linhardt’s shoulder, watching in delight as brows furrowed and eyelashes fluttered. Owlish blue eyes begin to open, their bleary gaze settling on Caspar. _  
  
_ Even if Caspar knew the first words out of Linhardt’s mouth would be ones of half-hearted admonishment - he delighted in the sight of his friend each and every time. _

  
  
\----

  
  
Linhardt’s face is more fragile now - thinned by age and war. He wore his burdens with grace as he stood in the midst of battle, despite how much he despised the position. Linhardt was reliable in the strangest ways.  
  
Reliable when it counted.  
  
It played a part in the longevity of their friendship, after all.  
  
The sounds of battle bear down on Caspar as his men clash with Linhardt’s. The clash resonates through the walls around him, and yet Linhardt commands Caspar’s presence. His fingers readjust the handle of his axe.

Unavoidable.  
  
Linhardt’s eyes are on him now, but there is little surprise in that look. Surely, Linhardt had heard his voice before they’d even turned the corner. Instead, the man’s expression waned. Caspar charges forward to close the distance, gaze unwavering. Even as he swings his weapon to clear his way, his eyes bore into Linhardt.  
  
Closer…  
  
His axe cleaves through a mage’s light armor. The force shatters bone, but the scream doesn’t reach Caspar’s ears. The sounds of battle drum around him. He hears them all and registers nothing. His footfalls scrape against cobblestone. His advance stops.  
  
Inevitable.  
  
They stand before one another in familiarity. This proximity adopted countless times before - laced in their childhood routines, woven into their friendship. Even in the face of an unfortunate truth, their closeness is unshakable.

  
Inescapable.  
  
A smile is the only thing he can offer to Linhardt now. 

“Looks like we ended up on opposing sides, Linhardt!”  
  
Despite their closeness, Caspar takes care to project over the chaos around them. He doesn’t want any of the words in this exchange to be lost. Not a one. His eyes scan Linhardt’s features - taking care to memorize every detail. The noncommittal smile Linhardt would wear when blowing off unpleasantries.... How heavy his eyelids became under the burden of stress… The twitch at the edge of his mouth while Linhardt puzzles over what to say… Every piece of his expression speaking volumes and reverberating through Caspar’s spine.  
  
Linhardt didn’t want to be here… and neither did he.  
  
Linhardt’s gaze sweeps over his friend, committing every detail to memory. They silently capture this moment together. Linhardt strains to speak, “Certainly seems that way. I could almost weep over how things turned out.”

  
Caspar marvels at just how clear that wilted tone registers amongst the chaos. He picks up every syllable, despite a soldier dying at his feet. His mouth goes dry. When the adrenaline fades, Caspar will certainly weep.  
  
“Do you realize, Caspar, that this is the first time we’ve ever fought?”

  
  
\----

  
  
_ Caspar’s eyes open to the soft glow of a healing spell. Linhard kneels before Caspar, his hovering hands guiding the magic with ease. The light dances across Linhardt’s face, causing his eyes to glimmer. It was a captivating sight. _  
  
_ “You’re good at this,” Caspar remarks dumbly, jaw thick and swollen. _  
  
_ Linhardt glances towards him and offers a soft smile. It’s glow pierces the haze in Caspar’s head. _  
  
_ “I suppose with a friend like you, I must be. I can’t imagine where you would be otherwise.” _  
  
_ The warmth that courses through Caspar’s veins eases the throbbing that hums through his body. It also soothes any bruises to his pride. Caspar slowly pushes himself to sit up. Linhardt relents in his healing, allowing his hands to drop from their perched position. Caspar reaches up to brush at his heavy jaw. _  
  
_ Linhardt reaches up to catch a yawn as he speaks again, “While your latest pursuit of justice didn’t bear fruit, perhaps we could retire to the dining hall? Watching you fight only reminds me of how exhausted I am.” _  
  
_ Caspar scoffs. His face twists into a grimace. Linhardt stands, offering Caspar his hand with a lackadaisical expression. Caspar’s irritation quickly disperses. Taking Linhardt’s hand, Caspar pulls himself to stand. _  
  
_ “Sounds like you need to train with me more.” _  
  
_ Caspar takes a jab, knowing full well what look he was about to receive. Linhardt’s eyes roll, fatigue clinging to his very soul. He offers Caspar a side glance. _  
  
_ “Oh no. I will leave the fighting to you. I am content to follow behind and clean up…. if I must.” _

  
  
_ \---- _

  
  
The memory bears down on Caspar. His jaw sets. His daring smile wilts as he adjusts his stance. Not even Linhardt can avoid how their destinies have converged. Inhibition has no place here. There is only one way to progress.  
  
“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Caspar nearly chokes. He takes a purposed inhale, steeling his nerves. He forces his smile to return.   
  
“The first and probably the last!”  
  
Caspar pushes off his left foot, swinging his axe in an upward arc. The blade audibly slices through the air, forcing Linhardt back as planned. While he knows Linhardt will answer with a spell, Caspar is unable to predict what it will be. Instead, Caspar simply braces himself to push through whatever Linhardt sends for him. A howl catches his ears before a gust thrashes his body. The gale dents his chest plate. The thrashing blows cut gashes not only into his armor, but also his face. Caspar’s teeth gnash in pain, eyes closing instinctually. Blood rushes from a clean cut that extends from temple to cross the bridge of his nose. Even as the final tendrils of air whip against him, Caspar rushes forward to slam his body into Linhardt’s.  
  
His shoulder connects with Linhardt’s chest as he shoves him towards the wall. Linhardt gasps, air forced from his lungs. He’d back Linhardt to a corner, if nothing else. Linhardt flounders backward, struggling to breathe. He stays upright, much to Caspar’s surprise. Caspar never expected Linhardt to take a blow with such grace, and yet-  
  
Linhardt interrupts his train of thought as he casts another round of Cutting Gale. A swelling tempest crashes into Caspar and repels him backward. The weight of the gust crushes his left pauldron. Another thrash twists a furrow into the plackart that lined his abdomen. Metal digs into flesh and pain explodes through his body. His vision blurs for a second, and Caspar bellows to offset the agony. His knuckles turn white as he clings to his weapon - afraid it may slip from his fingers.  
  
He had to go. Forward. Closer.  
  
His body presses forth. Desperation casts aside the protests of his body. Caspar relies on his tenacity to barrel forward. He catches the shift of Linhardt’s body as he prepares to evade. The sway of his green hair betrays Linhardt's intentions.

  
  
\---

  
  
_ “That’s one of the things I like about you, Caspar. Really,” Linhardt continues. He lifts his head as he allows Caspar a better angle to gather his long hair. Caspar quirks a brow before letting out a sigh. _  
  
_ “Not giving up is how you show your character, Linhardt. If you just roll over and take it - no one’s going to take you seriously. You gotta stand back up and take ‘em head on! Then they really start to get it.” _  
  
_ What started as an admonishment quickly becomes an attempt to stir spirit. Caspar knew by now that there was little hope in pep-talks when it came to Linhardt, but somehow he fell into the habit over and over again. He focuses, instead, on beginning to tie back the hair he’d managed to gather. _  
  
_ Linhardt lets out a lilt sigh, “I’d prefer if no one took me seriously. That gives me more time to do what I want.” _  
  
_ Caspar isn’t sure whether to scoff or laugh. Instead, he lets out a noise that lies somewhere in-between as he pulls at the looped, white ribbon. His fingers hover over the bow. It isn’t perfect, but there had certainly been good intentions in its creation. With Linhardt’s hair finally tamed, Caspar sits back. _  
  
_ Linhardt turns look over his shoulder before he slowly pulls himself up to stand. Soft eyes gaze downward as a soft smile illuminates his face. _  
  
_ “So do keep with your tenacity. It’ll distract people from bothering with me. You’re welcome to all that, if that’s really what you want.” _

  
  
\----

  
  
Linhardt’s intent to dodge has been long exposed. Caspar shifts his trajectory to collide. It’s inevitable. Linhardt raises his hands to cast, realizing too late that he’s been snared. It’s unavoidable. The axe in Caspar’s hand is heavy as he swings upward.  
  
The blade does not whip through the air. Resistance slows the blade to a stop even as Caspar tries to push it further. Linhardt’s hands tremble. The initial glow of a spell slowly fizzles between his fingers as they grow heavy.  
  
Caspar is frozen. His eyes are transfixed on wilting fingers. He’s afraid to look away. His hands are wrenched around the handle of his blade, his shoulders strained. Caspar’s teeth grind. A strangled gasp prompts his eyes to drag upward.

  
  
\----

  
  
_ Caspar howls over the body of his first kill. He stamps his foot, eyes turning skyward as he screamed. Every nerve in his body buzzed with excitement. Adrenaline pumps through his veins as he tries to catch his breath. _  
  
_ Another step forward- _  
  
_ “I…. I killed them.” _  
  
_ Yet a trembling voice catches Caspar’s attention. He turns to see Linhardt’s trembling hands hovering in the air. Linhardt remains frozen in stance, eyes transfixed on the corpse below him. He wears an expression that Caspar has never seen. Anguish paints Linhardt’s features from the quiver of his lip to the glassiness of his eyes. _  
  
_ “What have I done?” _  
  
_ Linhardt’s hands drop from position. He covers his mouth and takes a step backward. Tje color drains from Linhardt’s face, and Caspar wonders if he will faint. He stumbles, and yet Caspar can’t move to help. He has to move forward or risk losing his determination. _  
  
_ “The blood-” _  
  
_ Caspar tears his eyes from the embodiment of apprehension. He abandons Linhardt to continue their mission._

  
\----

  
  
Caspar locks eyes with a gaze that stares through him. Linhardt’s eyes are wide. They lack their usual luster, clouded with tears. A miserable weeze tears through Linhardt’s throat before a thick cough causes his eyes to lull.

  
  
\----

  
  
_ Caspar watches as Linhardt leans over the table in the dining hall. Linhardt motions to him with his spoon. He says something. Caspar really only remembers the concerned look that had crossed Linhardt’s face, and the way his eyes plea for mercy. _

  
  
_ \---- _

  
  
Linhardt vomits. Stomach acid and tissue spill from his lips. He sputters as it dribbles down his chin and pools at-  
  
at-  
  
  
Caspar’s eyes glance downward and the sight nearly causes him to wretch.

  
  
_ \---- _

  
  
_ Caspar turns as a laugh catches him off-guard. Linhardt stands, edges of his mouth twisted in amusement. He tries to cover his mouth, but it’s no use. Linhardt can’t stop the inevitable giggle that tears from his throat. _

  
  
_ \---- _

  
  
Caspar’s axe is buried deep. After pooling where the blade rests, blood and vomit begin to steadily dribble down the handle to reach Caspar’s trembling hands.  
  
…  
  
Trembling?

  
  
_ \---- _

  
  
_ Caspar shifts Linhardt’s weight on his back. His hands grasp at Linhardt’s thighs to help steady him. He’s not heavy. Linhardt murmurs something about the library, but Caspar drags him out anyway. _

  
  
_ \---- _

  
  
Linhardt can’t fall. Caspar’s weapon forces him upright. His hands reach out towards the blade, as if he could muster the strength to free himself. Shock overrides pain, and his mouth struggles to form words. A hiss gurgles in his throat.

  
  
\----

  
  
_Despite himself, Linhardt smiles as he tells Caspar about his switch to another class. Something about a more lenient professor. More books to read. Caspar doesn’t catch all of his reasons, zoning out as Linhardt blathers on. _  
  
_ He zones out until Linhardt gives him a gentle nudge. When he meets Linhardt’s eyes - he sees Linhardt struggle to form his next few words. It’s an odd moment of trepidation for someone usually so honest. _  
  
_ “We should still eat together. I have a solid napping spot near the training grounds. Perhaps you can retrieve me before dinner during the week?” _  
  
_ Caspar chuckles, reaching out to wrap his arm around Linhardt’s shoulders. _  
  
_ “You’re really afraid that I’m going to take this personally, huh?” Caspar teases, pulling Linhardt a little closer. _  
  
_ Linhardt is quick to deny, shaking his head. _  
_  
_“I only have a handful of friends. It would be a shame to cast you aside over something as trivial as a transfer.”

\----

  
  
Linhardt finally manages to spit out a word.   
  
“Just my luck…”  
  
Every word is a labor that causes Linhardt’s face to contour. Tears fall from unseeing eyes. Hair clings to his clammy face.  
  
“To be born” Linhardt sucks in a sob, “in such a dismal time…”  
  
His head falls back as a final, strangled whine rattles in his chest. Caspar’s eyes are unable to tear themselves away from Linhardt’s form. The battle around them has ceased with the fall of an enemy general. There was no telling how long stillness had prevailed in the corridor.  
  
Caspar holds his axe, reluctant to sever their final connection. He registers a sharp inhale, only to realize it belonged to himself. Slowly, he maneuvers himself closer to the corpse. Only when Caspar has successfully shifted Linhardt’s weight onto him does he begin to work the blade out of its resting place. Back and forth, he shifts the blade until it releases its hold. He allows the blade to drop to the floor along with bone and tissue. A shuddered breath follows as Caspar pulls the fleeting warmth of his friend to him. His nose brushes an ashen cheek, and he finally sobs.  
  
The adrenaline has waned. Realisation sets in.  
  
His fingers twist into fabric and hair as he begins to wail. He clutches onto the remains of his friend, slowly lowering Linhardt to the ground. He would’ve loathed to still be upright, after all. Caspar sets Linhardt amongst the filth on the floor. To lay amongst gore at the end-  
  
Caspar sniffles pathetically, choking out an apology under his breath. He guides Linhardt into a more natural position, hands settled over his stomach as he often did in the midst of a nap. When he noticed that Linhardt’s eyes never managed to fully shut, he reaches up to fix it, hesitates, and then commits. Linhardt deserves the chance to rest, though the gesture’s finality brings with it another bout of tears.  
  
He reaches up to wipe at his face, smearing a mixture his and Linhardt’s blood. He couldn’t stop here. He’d have to abandon Linhardt or else he would lose the resolve to move. He rises slowly, head bowed as he looks over his friend’s corpse.

Caspar’s attempt at sentiment simply makes a mockery of respite. Linhardt lays amongst blood and stone, covered by his own innards. Sallow skin and gaping wound spit in the face of repose. No amount of effort could mask the brutality of his passing.   
  
Linhardt von Hevring’s death is neither noble nor beautiful, and Caspar has to push past. He doesn’t have the luxury to delay. Caspar turns to meet the eyes of his men. The silence is oppressive. They’re lost, unable to fathom how to proceed.  
  
But that isn’t their duty.   
  
Caspar takes in a long exhale. He plucks his axe from the ground. Then he straightens his posture. He can’t force a smile this time around, but he does bolster a shout. He motions for his men to follow, and Caspar doesn’t dare look back.  
  
He can’t afford to.  
  
As he marches forward, he works on regaining his smile. He would need to build himself back on to continue to serve his men as a proper general. There would be time for reflection later. Later, when he comes to collect Linhardt and return him to Hevring - where he belonged.  
  
His childhood friend had stood with the professor. And now…  
  
Well.  
  
Caspar can’t help but wonder just how many friends the professor has had to kill. He'll have to ask them, even if there will be no justice in the answer. He will give it his all to reach Byleth. To meet face to face.  
  
He has to.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks sooo much for reading!
> 
> I couldn't stop thinking about this after Caspar almost destroyed Linhardt in my Blue Lion's play through. The Linhardt and Caspar dialogue when they fight has got me fucked up. I'm trying desperately to cope. 
> 
> This is a cautionary tale. Adopt these two fools together. They're two parts of one idiot. Please, think of the idiots.
> 
> I have Twitter @[sinseibad](https://twitter.com/sinseibad)


End file.
